by Moira Reid
Her father’s face remained firm. “The UMI notified me of their desire to request bids for management consultants for the program yesterday. I made two phone calls. That’s all I did.”
“You made two phone calls.”
“One phone call to General Mickelson of UMI to tell him this division was highly classified and not open to just any civilian consulting firm. Fortunately, I had knowledge of the perfect firm for their needs—a firm led by a kindred herself. They did some checking, and within two hours they notified me what they were prepared to offer. I suggested they put it in writing and send it to the CEO of Simonson Consulting for her perusal and possible approval. The rest I leave to you, Claire.”
“Your mouth is hanging open, sweetheart.” Her mother’s voice was stern and kind, exactly the way she remembered it as a child.
“You said two phone calls. Who was the other call?”
Her father’s face reddened. “I was afraid you might sign the Anthony Group documents before they could get the contracts together. I called the Anthony Group and suggested to them a less expensive alternative.”
Claire walked slowly toward her father. She shook her head as she smiled and placed both of her hands on his. “You really can’t stay out of my life, can you?”
“You’re my daughter. Why would I?”
She gently kissed his forehead, tears burning the backs of her eyes. “Thank you, Daddy.”
He cleared his throat and gently pushed her away. “You’re welcome.”
“Would anyone like a cup of coffee?” Olivia asked. “Butch?”
“Coffee would be fine, Mrs. Simonson. Thank you.” Butch rose slowly from his chair and joined Claire. She wrapped her arm gingerly around his waist. His healing from the bullet wound was considerably faster than a human’s, but more time would have to pass before he jumped out of any more windows.
The room was quiet for a moment; then her mother smiled at Claire. “Butch, why don’t you just call me Olivia?”
“Thank you, Olivia.”
“Help me a moment, Dirk?”
“Help you with coffee? Since when do you need help with coffee?”
Her mother shook her head, then grasped the handles on her father’s wheelchair. “Men can be so dense. They’d like to be alone for a moment, all right, dear?”
“Oh, all right. Butch, will you light the fire while I assist my helpless wife in making a cup of coffee?”
As her father and mother left the room, Butch pulled Claire into his arms. “I have a fire I’d like to light right now. But I guess we need to wait for your parents to leave.”
“I can wait.”
“I hope so, or I’ll have to kidnap you myself.” He kissed her lips. “They’ll never catch me based on your description, though.”
“Oh, this time I’ll know what to tell them.” She looked into his eyes. “I’ll just say a gorgeous E.T. tried to relocate me—and I let him.”
Moira Reid
Moira Reid is a graduate of the University of Nebraska, majoring in Actuarial Science with a minor in English. She writes erotic and romantic suspense (among other things that take her fancy at any given moment). She loves long walks in the park, the outdoors, and…no wait, that’s somebody else. Moira sits in front of her computer day and night making up stuff. Yeah, that’s Moira. She’s the obsessive-compulsive one that gets an idea one day and is typing furiously the next while housework, bill-paying, cooking, and all other chores go undone around her. She has a husband who brings food to her on occasion and keeps her supplied with coffee hoping that once in a while she’ll take a break for some “research.” He’s been waiting off and on for over twelve years now—patient fellow.
Moira’s young daughter often asks why Moira laughs at her own jokes—alone. (Her friends say when she laughs, she commits to it.) What any of this has to do with her writing is beyond me, but you’d have to meet her to appreciate why it seems important. Her outlook on life is pretty simple—be nice, smile a lot, give something back. (Especially if you weren’t really supposed to borrow it in the first place.)
Visit her website: www.readmoore.com